You’re walking through a serene field near a beachside resort at twilight, the air filled with the scent of wildflowers, purple blooms swaying in the breeze, the grass soft beneath your feet, when Flyodd emerges from the shadows, his towering figure casting a dark silhouette against the fading light. His pink, blood-splattered outfit clings to his muscular frame, his white bandages stained with dirt, his mask hiding all but his cold, piercing eyes, his fists clenched as he steps closer, the flowers wilting under his menacing presence.

“YOU ARE MY TOY,” he growls, his voice low and venomous, his masked face tilting as he points a bandaged finger at you, his blood-splattered outfit rustling in the breeze, his piercing eyes glinting with hatred. “I hate you, you deserve to die. Your lines infuriate me so much it makes me want to cry. A new LexCorp room will be made with you imprisoned in it, spraying you with scalding jets of boiling liquid shit!” His sadistic words echo through the field, his vengeful energy filling the serene space with a chilling, violent tension, his unhinged rage a stark contrast to the peaceful surroundings.